The Odyssey(Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)

by Robert Fagles

Goddess or woman —we called out and hailed her . . .

  She opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth,

  inviting us all in, and in we went, all innocence.

  But I stayed behind —I sensed a trap. Suddenly

  all vanished —blotted out —not one face showed again,

  though I sat there keeping watch a good long time.’

  At that report I slung the hefty bronze blade

  of my silver-studded sword around my shoulder,

  slung my bow on too and told our comrade,

  290 ‘Lead me back by the same way that you came.’

  But he flung both arms around my knees and pleaded,

  begging me with his tears and winging words:

  ‘Don’t force me back there, captain, king —

  leave me here on the spot.

  You will never return yourself, I swear,

  you’ll never bring back a single man alive.

  Quick, cut and run with the rest of us here —

  we can still escape the fatal day!’

  299 But I shot back, ‘Eurylochus, stay right here,

  300 eating, drinking, safe by the black ship.

  I must be off. Necessity drives me on.’

  Leaving the ship and shore, I headed inland,

  clambering up through hushed, entrancing glades until,

  as I was nearing the halls of Circe skilled in spells,

  approaching her palace —Hermes god of the golden wand

  crossed my path, and he looked for all the world

  like a young man sporting his first beard,

  just in the prime and warm pride of youth,

  and grasped me by the hand and asked me kindly,

  310 ‘Where are you going now, my unlucky friend —

  trekking over the hills alone in unfamiliar country?

  And your men are all in there, in Circe’s palace,

  cooped like swine, hock by jowl in the sties.

  Have you come to set them free?

  Well, I warn you, you won’t get home yourself,

  you’ll stay right there, trapped with all the rest.

  But wait, I can save you, free you from that great danger.

  Look, here is a potent drug. Take it to Circe’s halls —

  its power alone will shield you from the fatal day.

  320 Let me tell you of all the witch’s subtle craft . . .

  She’ll mix you a potion, lace the brew with drugs

  but she’ll be powerless to bewitch you, even so —

  this magic herb I give will fight her spells.

  Now here’s your plan of action, step by step.

  The moment Circe strikes with her long thin wand,

  you draw your sharp sword sheathed at your hip

  and rush her fast as if to run her through!

  She’ll cower in fear and coax you to her bed —

  but don’t refuse the goddess’ bed, not then, not if

  330 she’s to release your friends and treat you well yourself.

  But have her swear the binding oath of the blessed gods

  she’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm you,

  once you lie there naked —

  never unman you, strip away your courage!’

  With that

  the giant-killer handed over the magic herb,

  pulling it from the earth,

  and Hermes showed me all its name and nature.

  Its root is black and its flower white as milk

  and the gods call it moly. Dangerous for a mortal man

  340 to pluck from the soil but not for deathless gods.

  All lies within their power.

  Now Hermes went his way

  to the steep heights of Olympus, over the island’s woods

  while I, just approaching the halls of Circe,

  my heart a heaving storm at every step,

  paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids —

  I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice,

  she opened her gleaming doors at once and stepped forth,

  inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now . . .

  She led me in to sit on a silver-studded chair,

  350 ornately carved, with a stool to rest my feet.

  In a golden bowl she mixed a potion for me to drink,

  stirring her poison in, her heart aswirl with evil.

  And then she passed it on, I drank it down

  but it never worked its spell —

  she struck with her wand and ‘Now,’ she cried,

  ‘off to your sty, you swine, and wallow with your friends!’

  But I, I drew my sharp sword sheathed at my hip

  and rushed her fast as if to run her through —

  359 She screamed, slid under my blade, hugged my knees

  360 with a flood of warm tears and a burst of winging words:

  ‘Who are you? where are you from? your city? your parents?

  I’m wonderstruck —you drank my drugs, you’re not bewitched!

  Never has any other man withstood my potion, never,

  once it’s past his lips and he has drunk it down.

  You have a mind in you no magic can enchant!

  You must be Odysseus, man of twists and turns —

  Hermes the giant-killer, god of the golden wand,

  he always said you’d come,

  homeward bound from Troy in your swift black ship.

  370 Come, sheathe your sword, let’s go to bed together,

  mount my bed and mix in the magic work of love —

  we’ll breed deep trust between us.’

  So she enticed

  but I fought back, still wary. ‘Circe, Circe,

  how dare you tell me to treat you with any warmth?

  You who turned my men to swine in your own house and now

  you hold me here as well —teeming with treachery

  you lure me to your room to mount your bed,

  so once I lie there naked

  you’ll unman me, strip away my courage!

  380 Mount your bed? Not for all the world. Not

  until you consent to swear, goddess, a binding oath

  you’ll never plot some new intrigue to harm me!’

  Straightaway

  she began to swear the oath that I required —never,

  she’d never do me harm —and when she’d finished,

  then, at last, I mounted Circe’s gorgeous bed . . .

  At the same time her handmaids bustled through the halls,

  four in all who perform the goddess’ household tasks:

  nymphs, daughters born of the springs and groves

  and the sacred rivers running down to open sea.

  390 One draped the chairs with fine crimson covers

  over the seats she’d spread with linen cloths below.

  A second drew up silver tables before the chairs

  and laid out golden trays to hold the bread.

  A third mulled heady, heart-warming wine

  in a silver bowl and set out golden cups.

  A fourth brought water and lit a blazing fire

  beneath a massive cauldron. The water heated soon,

  and once it reached the boil in the glowing bronze

  she eased me into a tub and bathed me from the cauldron,

  400 mixing the hot and cold to suit my taste, showering

  head and shoulders down until she’d washed away

  the spirit-numbing exhaustion from my body.

  The bathing finished, rubbing me sleek with oil,

  throwing warm fleece and a shirt around my shoulders,

  she led me in to sit on a silver-studded chair,

  ornately carved, with a stool to rest my feet.

  A maid brought water soon in a graceful golden pitcher

  and over a silver basin tipped it out

  so I might rinse my hands,

  410 then pulled a gleaming table to my side.

  A staid
housekeeper brought on bread to serve me,

  appetizers aplenty too, lavish with her bounty.

  She pressed me to eat. I had no taste for food.

  I just sat there, mind wandering, far away . . .

  lost in grim forebodings.

  As soon as Circe saw me,

  huddled, not touching my food, immersed in sorrow,

  she sidled near with a coaxing, winged word:

  ‘Odysseus, why just sit there, struck dumb,

  eating your heart out, not touching food or drink?

  420 Suspect me of still more treachery? Nothing to fear.

  Haven’t I just sworn my solemn, binding oath?’

  So she asked, but I protested, ‘Circe —

  how could any man in his right mind endure

  the taste of food and drink before he’d freed

  his comrades-in-arms and looked them in the eyes?

  If you, you really want me to eat and drink,

  set them free, all my beloved comrades —

  let me feast my eyes.’

  So I demanded.

  Circe strode on through the halls and out,

  430 her wand held high in hand and, flinging open the pens,

  drove forth my men, who looked like full-grown swine.

  Facing her, there they stood as she went along the ranks,

  anointing them one by one with some new magic oil —

  and look, the bristles grown by the first wicked drug

  that Circe gave them slipped away from their limbs

  and they turned men again: younger than ever,

  taller by far, more handsome to the eye, and yes,

  they knew me at once and each man grasped my hands

  and a painful longing for tears overcame us all,

  440 a terrible sobbing echoed through the house . . .

  The goddess herself was moved and, standing by me,

  warmly urged me on —a lustrous goddess now:

  ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, tried and true,

  go at once to your ship at the water’s edge,

  haul her straight up on the shore first

  and stow your cargo and running gear in caves,

  then back you come and bring your trusty crew.’

  Her urging won my stubborn spirit over.

  Down I went to the swift ship at the water’s edge,

  450 and there on the decks I found my loyal crew

  consumed with grief and weeping live warm tears.

  But now, as calves in stalls when cows come home,

  droves of them herded back from field to farmyard

  once they’ve grazed their fill —as all their young calves

  come frisking out to meet them, bucking out of their pens,

  lowing nonstop, jostling, rushing round their mothers —

  so my shipmates there at the sight of my return

  came pressing round me now, streaming tears,

  so deeply moved in their hearts they felt as if

  460 they’d made it back to their own land, their city,

  Ithaca’s rocky soil where they were bred and reared.

  And through their tears their words went winging home:

  ‘You’re back again, my king! How thrilled we are —

  as if we’d reached our country, Ithaca, at last!

  But come, tell us about the fate our comrades met.’

  Still I replied with a timely word of comfort:

  ‘Let’s haul our ship straight up on the shore first

  and stow our cargo and running gear in caves.

  Then hurry, all of you, come along with me

  470 to see our friends in the magic halls of Circe,

  eating and drinking —the feast flows on forever.’

  So I said and they jumped to do my bidding.

  Only Eurylochus tried to hold my shipmates back,

  his mutinous outburst aimed at one and all:

  ‘Poor fools, where are we running now?

  Why are we tempting fate? —

  why stumble blindly down to Circe’s halls?

  She’ll turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions

  made to guard that palace of hers —by force, I tell you —

  480 just as the Cyclops trapped our comrades in his lair

  with hotheaded Odysseus right beside them all —

  thanks to this man’s rashness they died too!’

  So he declared and I had half a mind

  to draw the sharp sword from beside my hip

  and slice his head off, tumbling down in the dust,

  close kin that he was. But comrades checked me,

  each man trying to calm me, left and right:

  ‘Captain, we’ll leave him here if you command,

  just where he is, to sit and guard the ship.

  Lead us on to the magic halls of Circe.’

  490 With that,

  up from the ship and shore they headed inland.

  Nor did Eurylochus malinger by the hull;

  he straggled behind the rest,

  dreading the sharp blast of my rebuke.

  All the while

  Circe had bathed my other comrades in her palace,

  caring and kindly, rubbed them sleek with oil

  and decked them out in fleecy cloaks and shirts.

  We found them all together, feasting in her halls.

  Once we had recognized each other, gazing face-to-face,

  500 we all broke down and wept —and the house resounded now

  and Circe the lustrous one came toward me, pleading,

  ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, man of action,

  no more tears now, calm these tides of sorrow.

  Well I know what pains you bore on the swarming sea,

  what punishment you endured from hostile men on land.

  But come now, eat your food and drink your wine

  till the same courage fills your chests, now as then,

  when you first set sail from native land, from rocky Ithaca!

  Now you are burnt-out husks, your spirits haggard, sere,

  510 always brooding over your wanderings long and hard,

  your hearts never lifting with any joy —

  you’ve suffered far too much.’

  So she enticed

  and won our battle-hardened spirits over.

  And there we sat at ease,

  day in, day out, till a year had run its course,

  feasting on sides of meat and drafts of heady wine . . .

  But then, when the year was gone and the seasons wheeled by

  and the months waned and the long days came round again,

  my loyal comrades took me aside and prodded,

  520 ‘Captain, this is madness!

  High time you thought of your own home at last,

  if it really is your fate to make it back alive

  and reach your well-built house and native land.’

  Their urging brought my stubborn spirit round.

  So all that day till the sun went down we sat

  and feasted on sides of meat and heady wine.

  Then when the sun had set and night came on

  the men lay down to sleep in the shadowed halls

  but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe’s,

  530 hugged her by the knees

  and the goddess heard my winging supplication:

  ‘Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once —

  it’s time to help me home. My heart longs to be home,

  my comrades’ hearts as well. They wear me down,

  pleading with me whenever you’re away.’

  So I pressed

  and the lustrous goddess answered me in turn:

  ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, old campaigner,

  stay on no more in my house against your will.

  But first another journey calls. You must travel down

  540 to the House of Death and the awesome one, Persephone,

  541 there to
consult the ghost of Tiresias, seer of Thebes,

  the great blind prophet whose mind remains unshaken.

  Even in death —Persephone has given him wisdom,

  everlasting vision to him and him alone . . .

  the rest of the dead are empty, flitting shades.’

  So she said and crushed the heart inside me.

  I knelt in her bed and wept. I’d no desire

  to go on living and see the rising light of day.

  But once I’d had my fill of tears and writhing there,

  550 at last I found the words to venture, ‘Circe, Circe,

  who can pilot us on that journey? Who has ever

  reached the House of Death in a black ship?’

  The lustrous goddess answered, never pausing,

  ‘Royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, born for exploits,

  let no lack of a pilot at the helm concern you, no,

  just step your mast and spread your white sail wide —

  sit back and the North Wind will speed you on your way.

  But once your vessel has cut across the Ocean River

  you will raise a desolate coast and Persephone’s Grove,

  560 her tall black poplars, willows whose fruit dies young.

  Beach your vessel hard by the Ocean’s churning shore

  and make your own way down to the moldering House of Death.

  563 And there into Acheron, the Flood of Grief, two rivers flow,

  the torrent River of Fire, the wailing River of Tears

  that branches off from Styx, the Stream of Hate,

  and a stark crag looms

  where the two rivers thunder down and meet.

  Once there, go forward, hero. Do as I say now.

  Dig a trench of about a forearm’s depth and length

  570 and around it pour libations out to all the dead —

  first with milk and honey, and then with mellow wine,

  then water third and last, and sprinkle glistening barley

  over it all, and vow again and again to all the dead,

  to the drifting, listless spirits of their ghosts,

  that once you return to Ithaca you will slaughter

  a barren heifer in your halls, the best you have,

  and load a pyre with treasures —and to Tiresias,

  alone, apart, you will offer a sleek black ram,

  the pride of all your herds. And once your prayers

  580 have invoked the nations of the dead in their dim glory,

  slaughter a ram and a black ewe, turning both their heads

  582 toward Erebus, but turn your head away, looking toward

  the Ocean River. Suddenly then the countless shades

  of the dead and gone will surge around you there.